Dear Mr Ed

Iknow how folks get all outta twist hearin’ Brutish Columbyans brag on how they got trees and flours bloomin’ like Billy B. Dammed whilst the rest of the country is waste-deep in snow?

It took a spell, but I finely figgered out how that state of affairs come to be.

Turns out it aint from BC gettin’ the warm breezes outta Hawayii, or extra sunlite from bein’ plunked down pracktickly next door to Callifornya.

Theres parts of Canada so far south you haveta drive due north fer three days jest to hit the 40-Ninth Parralell, but they can get whacked in winter as bad as the Youcon.

So how come BC folks are out in short pants pickin’ petoonyas whilst evryone else is still in hibernashun, rapt in furs and fethers and livin’ off there body fat?

I’ll tell you how come. Its on accounta the April showers. Or as Youconners are more like to call ’em, the July showers.

In BC the spring rains dont come in spring, in the nachural way of things. Nossir, they start the first day of skool and keep goin’ rite on into Febwary.

The last three weeks or so its been rainin’ like a mongoose, with no let up in site.

It aint that we get the big storms like Yolanda or Zerox, or what ever name its up to these days.

In fact the ownly reel storm hereabouts of late has been over the HST, what they call the Homogenized Sales Tax. But that ones been a doozy, let me tell you.

Anybody that watches TV can tell you what makes a storm happen is when a big cold front comes smack up against a load of hot air. Or maybe its visa versa.

Lord knows theres allways plenty of both in the BC pollitickal atmosfear, so theres no sign of Hurrycane HST blowin’ over any time soon.

But I digest. Like I was sayin’ the big deal storms like tornadoes or tycoons dont come to call that much around here.

What we do get is rain. Lots of rain. Evry day. All day. Leastwise thats how it seems.

It dont allways come in torrints, or even by the bucket. Most times its jest there, soakin’ clear thru to yer skivvys and drummin’ on yer noggin like a Chinese water torcher.

The ground gets so wet, when I dig a mess of spuds fer supper the dang things are allready riced afore they even hit the pot.

Put yer ear to the ground come Febwary, you hear daffadills warnin’ each another “If we dont get our heads outta the sand rite now, we’ll all be drownded down here.”

As fer me, I’d still sooner freeze than rust. So BC havin’ a head start on follyage dont tick me off as much as some folks.

But it sure puts me off my feed when one of the locals looks at me all smug and says “Yes, but its a dry rain”.

Yer pal,

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